Raymore half-turned to her as the vicar pronounced Nigel and Sylvia man and wife. He could not believe that she did not feel the same vibrations that he felt. Crawleigh was just reaching over to clasp and squeeze her hand. They looked into each other's eyes and smiled. Fool, Raymore thought. What a fool he was! There must be some strange flaw in his character that he always became attached to women whose attentions were directed elsewhere. And Rosalind most of all. She had never even pretended to like, or even respect, him. And it seemed that she loved the man whom she was to marry in a short while. He would not be able to attend that wedding. He could not give her away to another man when he wanted her so much for himself. He would have to think of some excuse when the time came.
Rosalind was also relieved to see Sylvia behave in a proper manner. It would have been very bad ton for her to show the excitement and happiness that she was evidently feeling. Rosalind was very familiar with that tense look about her cousin and the heightened color of her cheeks. It always meant that the girl was bursting with exuberance. But it really would not do for Lord Standen to suspect the truth. It would be even worse if any of the guests did so.
Rosalind felt relatively happy for her cousin. She should be uneasy. Sylvia had fallen in and out of love so many times in the last few years that it should be highly likely that she would regret her marriage within a few months. And Nigel did not have a great deal to recommend him to a romantic young girl. He was not unusually good-looking or elegant or fashionable. He possessed no great charm, no great wealth, no outstanding prospects. He was not at all, in fact, like any of the men with whom Sylvia had fancied herself in love. Perhaps it was this fact that reassured Rosalind. Sylvia had certainly not fallen just for an attractive exterior this time. She really did seem to love the man himself.
The Earl of Raymore sat down beside her, and Rosalind forgot her cousin. She was suddenly uncomfortably conscious of his closeness. How annoying! Why did she not have the same awareness of Bernard, who had sat beside her since they entered the church? She still heard the words of the service, but she heard them with Raymore in mind. What would it be like to be standing there with him? She pictured them, her hand in his, his eyes looking into hers, speaking his vows. It would be suffocating. Rosalind's heart was thumping uncomfortably against her ribs. She had to concentrate to control her breathing. What would it be like afterward to know that she belonged to him, that she forever owed him loyalty and obedience? It was a terrifying thought. But she could not shake from her mind that strange, tender moment when Sylvia was lost and Raymore had gripped her arms reassuringly and kissed her on the forehead.
Rosalind felt a dreadful urge to turn her head and look up at the man who sat so still beside her. There seemed to be such an overpowering magnetism pulling between them. Bernard's hand suddenly covered hers and squeezed it. She looked up into his face with a guilty start and smiled warmly.
After she looked away again, back to Sylvia and Nigel, Crawleigh looked over her head at Raymore, who was also watching the newly married pair. Bernard frowned slightly and returned his attention to the service.
Chapter 14
It felt strange to be back in London without Sylvia. Cousin Hetty was delighted to see Rosalind, and the poodles yapped around her ankles in noisy welcome when she stepped into the hallway of the house on Grosvenor Square. She found herself borne off to the drawing room and plied with tea and all the latest on-dits in equally large quantities. Then it was her turn. Cousin Hetty wished to know every detail of Sylvia's strange courtship and wedding.
"I am so chagrined that it all happened when I was not there," she said, tickling the stomach of a small dog that lay in ecstasy on her lap. "Of course, if I had been there, dear, it would not have happened at all. I always had an eye for those two and would certainly have made sure that they were not allowed to leave a ballroom together. That Lord Standen! The man must be blind as a bat. I cannot say I am sorry, though. He and dear Sylvia did not suit at all. He needs someone to tease away his stuffiness. Your little cousin is too timid. Though, bless her soul, she was not too timid to go after the man she really wanted, was she, dear? I do believe Mr. Broome will be just right for her, do you know? He is quiet and serious enough to make her believe that she has all her own way, but I believe he is a man to rule his own home. She will be happy, won't she, Pootsie?" Cousin Hetty smiled sagely down at the little dog.
Rosalind did not have to contend with the presence of the Earl of Raymore on that first day back. He had returned to London the day before, on the afternoon of the wedding. Rosalind had traveled with Susan Heron and her ladies' maid, Sir Bernard Crawleigh riding beside the carriage for most of the way. When she entered the house, only Cousin Hetty was there to greet her. There was no sign of Raymore, either then or for the rest of the day. Rosalind was immeasurably relieved. There would be increased embarrassment to be in his company with Sylvia no longer there, to know that she alone was now his ward, though there was no relationship whatever between them. She dreaded facing him.
For his part, Raymore was keeping a careful distance from his own home. Although there had been no material change since his journey into the country, he somehow felt now that it was almost improper to share a house with Rosalind. Knowing that he loved her, admitting to himself that he wanted her, he could not share a roof with her in comfort. He must stay away as much as possible. Then, too, he did not relish the thought of being in her company when all they ever did was quarrel. He would not now be able to enjoy matching wits and tempers with her, knowing that she hated and despised him. He would want to catch her in his arms and turn her anger to passion. His rose!
He spent the morning of her return at the House of Lords. He did not attend very frequently, finding the long and ponderous debates somewhat tedious. He went to the racetrack in the afternoon and watched some races without any great interest. He made no bets. Sir Henry Martel was there and persuaded his friend to return with him to dinner.
"Elise will be delighted," Sir Henry assured his friend. "I took her to the opera last evening and I have driven with her in the park two or three afternoons, but she is unable to enter into too many activities. She will not hear of hiring a wet-nurse, you see, and consequently can leave the baby only for a few hours at a time."
"I admire her dedication," Raymore, said, maneuvering his curricle around a phaeton whose wheel had become hopelessly sunk in a muddy rut. "Many women would be all too ready to give up the care of their child to a mere servant."
Sir Henry Martel shot his friend an amused glance. "What, Edward?" he said. "Do you actually have something favorable to say about a female?"
Raymore looked mystified. "I have always respected your wife, Henry," he said.
The evening was a pleasant one. Raymore found himself almost envious of the quiet domesticity of his friends. They were not ostentatious in their love of each other, but there was an obvious affection between them and, more important, they shared a friendship. It was strange, he thought, that he had never noticed these things. Although he had always treated Lady Martel with courtesy, he had constantly pitied his friend for being leg-shackled. He had never been able to see that there could be any real happiness in marriage. Of course, it was different for him. He could never hope for such contentment. For some reason, he could not inspire any woman with deep and lasting love and loyalty. It was probably just as well that way. He was not at all sure that he could risk entrusting all his happiness to one woman.